


No Homo

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Love, Car Sex, Cuddling, Dean coming to terms with being hella gay for his brother, Dean's a dick but for once it's not his fault, Emotional Dean, First Kisses, Frottage, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Sam has a great ass, Sam is a Tease, Sibling Incest, Truth Spells, Wincest - Freeform, brotherly antics, fluff?, handjobs, truth magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets hit with truth magic and the result is both hilarious and unfortunate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Homo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicbubblepipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/gifts).



> Also at the request of magicbubblepipe. She wanted over-emotional Dean, I added in the smut just because. This is basically just 8,000 words of me dicking around, so I hope it turned out alright. Proof-read by me, so any mistakes are my fault.

             “I’ve always loved your ass in those jeans.” Dean blurts out, voice sudden over the howl of wind.

             Sam’s eyebrows make a break for his hairline as he straightens from his crouch. He puts another bullet between the necromancer’s eyes for good measure, even though her head is no longer attached to the rest of her body, and flicks the safety back on before holstering his gun. He douses the blood-soaked torso on the ground in lighter-fluid and a healthy dose of salt. She goes up in flames and Dean leans away from the licking flames.

            They’d been meticulous about taking her apart after she’d bitch-slapped Sam into a tombstone even though he’d put a bullet neat as anything high up on her forehead. The result is an assortment of people pieces scattered around their feet and a fuck-ton of blood. Sam rubs at the growing bruise on his shoulder and his fingers come away tacky with blood. He wriggles them in the firelight and watches them shine with vague interest. Sam wrinkles his nose as he wipes his hand off on his jeans. He tosses an arm and a leg onto the pyre and Dean takes a step back as the sparks jump.

           “No homo?” Sam asks wryly once the fires going strong, squirting more lighter-fluid on the witches’ burning body and watching the flames jump. They cast flickering shadows over Dean’s dumbstruck, semi-horrified face. He gives Dean a couple of seconds to reply by punting the slack-jawed head into the bonfire. Dean tosses the rest of her limbs onto the fire and mashes his lips together.

          He breathes out sharply through his nose while Sam looks at him expectantly. Sam smoothes the dribble of blood that starts from Dean’s right temple and trails down his cheek away with his thumb. He wipes it on Dean’s jacket after.

          “No homo, man.” Dean says, looking perplexed as he swipes his arm over his face and gets the last of the blood.

           A slow, painful burning feeling builds in the back of his throat, like he’s inhaled hot ash and he coughs to try and shake it. He grimaces when it only gets worse and pulls his flask out. He takes a thick gulp of whiskey, and while it burns low and warm in his belly, it does jack-shit to help the tickle in the back of his throat. Sam’s still giving him a ‘bitch, please’ look and he takes another glug just to watch the prissy tilt of Sam’s mouth.

          He stuffs it back into his jacket and ignores the disproving look Sam is giving him. “When your kidneys fail you can’t have one of mine.” Sam snorts, salting the ground where blood has soaked into the soil.

         “And there was more than enough homo in that sentence.” He points out, scattering salt with his boot to make sure all of the blood gets a nice, even coat.

         “No homo.” Dean repeats firmly, lips turned down as he stares pensively into the flames. Dean swallows like he’s got something caught in his throat, something big, and grits out in obvious defeat “There’s a lot of homo,” His shoulders are slumped and there’s something akin to defeat in his eyes as he finishes in rush “there’s so much homo and there always has been and I don’t know what to do about it.”

         The burning eases slow at first and then it’s like he took a gulp of something cold. He sucks in a few quick breaths and rubs at his stinging throat.

         “What the hell Dean.” Sam asks, laughing a little as he kicks a few wayward sparks away from dry leaves. He rubs at the back of his neck, face warm with the heat of the fire and mild embarrassment.

          “I don’t know Sammy.” Dean breathes, looking pissed. There’s a charred hunk of ash where the body used to be and they stand in a slightly awkward silence as the fire burns itself out and leaves a few wisps and chunks of ash. Dean scatters them with his boot and Sam gives him a brotherly slap on the shoulder.

          “Don’t worry ‘bout it man, everyone’s gay once in a while.” Sam says with a half-grin and Dean cracks a smile. Even if he does smack his hand down on Sam’s bruised shoulder in retaliation. Sam ducks out from under him with a pained laugh and kicks ash on Dean’s boots.

         “You know, these jeans do make my ass look good.” Sam says, twisting around to get a good look. The jeans are just tight enough that they cling to his thighs without being too tight. He saunters in front of Dean, reaching down to snag his duffle and willing to forget the momentary lapse of incest in favor of getting back to the Impala. He starts the long trek through the graveyard and leaves Dean to trail after him for a change.

         “Fuck off.” Dean snorts, slinging his bag up onto his shoulder and flipping Sam off as he jogs to catch up. If his eyes linger on Sam’s tight ass, that’s his business.

         “I wanna freakin’ bury my face in it. Spend a day or two paying homage to that fine ass.” Dean says with an appreciative headshake, biting his lip as he watches the flex of Sam’s thigh muscles.

          Apparently not.

          “Dude, c’mon, you expect me to ignore that?” Sam objects loudly, turning to look at Dean. The hot squiggle of pleasure he feels low in his belly is out of place in the overgrown graveyard. Dean trips over a root and Sam has to catch him before he faceplants.

         “Either you’re a lot more tired than you let on or your sudden love of my ass isn’t entirely voluntary.” He sets Dean back on his feet and pointedly steps over the root.

         “It’s not sudden.” Dean blurts past the low burn, jerking his arm out of Sam’s hand even though he’s already let go. Dean, red in the face and infuriated by the sudden word vomit, pushes past Sam and strides purposefully towards the Impala.

          “Right, this is the end, we had a good run Sammy, see ya around.” Sam jogs to catch up and then keeps pace with Dean easily, shaking his head at Dean’s dramatics.

          “Think she got you with that last spell,” Sam says sympathetically, grabbing Dean by the back of his jacket and hauling him back when he tries to make a break for it “maybe like a truth spell or something? Which is weird, because she seemed like she was more into raising the dead and spewing pea-soup.”

          “Or something.” Dean grumbles angrily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Always with the fucking pea-soup”

          That last pulse of power had ruffled his hair as it had blown over him, but he was pretty damn sure she’d missed.

          Sam’s lips quirk a little and he replies easily “I’m more concerned about the fact that you apparently want to, and I quote, ‘bury your face in it’. It being my ass.”

          Dean’s lips tighten and he opens his mouth to deny it to the grave, only to have the intense burn start back up right off the bat. He makes a choked sound before it all comes rushing out.

          “I do, more than pretty much anything.” He says bluntly, mild shock registering on Sam’s face as he gets a straight answer.

          “Wanted to for a while, long before this spell or whatever the fuck it is, just haven’t had the balls to tell you.” Dean sounds almost agonized towards the end, like it’s something pulled from way down deep. But there’s a rush of cool down his throat, like he’s just brushed his teeth and taken a drink of water.

          Sam swallows, heart suddenly thumping hard in his ears while his pulse skyrockets. He’d expected an honest answer if his spell theory was right, but it’s too damn honest and Sam feels stripped bare by it. He stumbles over a grave marker in his shock and Dean’s lips twitch smugly.

          “I’d like that.” Sam says, voice low and every bit as honest as Dean’s confession. He hadn’t planned on saying it, but there it is. He’s almost ashamed of the quick-silver jolt of raw want he feels at the thought of Dean’s tongue anywhere near him when Dean’s obviously having trouble with this. His dick twitches and he’s glad for the cover of dark as he falls a few steps behind, shoulders hunched.

          “No, Sammy, this is just-” Dean shakes his head violently and drags his nails through his short hair. He licks his lips and stares up at the stars, feeling a little sick and a lot upset. “It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up.” He finishes on a harsh breath.

         Sam squares his shoulders; something less than sexy twisting in his stomach as he watches Dean’s shoulders tighten, watches him slip farther inside of himself. Out of Sam’s reach and away from the truth they’ve been tip-toeing around for years. “It’s only fucked up if I’m not okay with it.” Sam says quietly, firmly.

         Dean scoffs loudly and Sam rolls his eyes even though he feels broken-up on the inside. “Says who?” Dean says sharply, unlocking Baby and tossing himself in.

         Sam jiggles the door handle until Dean unlocks the door. He piles in after he tosses the duffle in the back and replies brusquely “Says me.” Dean’s fingers tighten around Baby’s steering wheel and he frowns severely as his fingers fill in the familiar grooves his fingers have rubbed into the leather.

        “Yeah? And what does everyone else say huh? Mom, Dad, Bobby? What do they have to say about me wanting to fuck my brother?” The words come out like a shot, sudden and deafening and almost as damaging as a bullet would have been.

        “Nothing, because they’re dead.” Sam replies and it’s a bitchy thing to say, an incredibly bitchy thing, but he doesn’t take it back and Dean starts up the car with a frown that’s bordering on a pout.

         “You’re a dick, ya know that buddy?” Dean asks with heat, pulling out of the dilapidated parking lot with care and pulling back onto the road.

          Sam’s relieved to hear some of the self-hate leech out of his voice. “Least I’m not a self-righteous, pity-party throwing wiener.” Sam says without remorse, keeping a straight face even as a startled grin spreads across Dean’s lips.

        “Bullshit, you are one of the biggest wieners I’ve ever met.” He snorts, pushing Baby up to 65. There’s that rush of cool again and he feels incredibly smug. It’s the truth to an extent at least, Dean acknowledges, not the whole truth. Sam’s only a big wiener sometimes.

         “Then clearly you haven’t met very many people.” Sam replies smoothly, even though Dean’s stuck telling the truth and he has to be a dick and a wiener in some capacity. Dean resolves not to talk until they can figure out a way to break the spell. You know, just so there’s no chance of him blurting out another crippling secret he’s been harboring since Sam turned 17.

          The silence drags on after that, awkward and loud in the way silence can only be, even with an 80’s power ballad serenading them.

 

*

 

 

            When they pull into the dingy motel, Sam gets out before Dean and leaves him to haul in the bags. He heads right for the shower and closes the door on Dean’s hurt, squishy little face.

            He takes his time in the shower, washes the blood and ash down the drain and the smoke from his skin. He massages his shoulder, ignoring the painful throb while he tries to figure out the best way to deal with the realization that Dean wants him. He figures he’s let Dean stew enough so he turns off the shower and climbs out. Dean’s sitting on the bed with his head in his hands when Sam comes out in a towel.

            “All yours.” he says pleasantly, skin still slick. Dean’s head snaps up and he looks like he’s ready for a slapdown, for some great bitching that’s coming his way “But when you get out? I’ll be here. On the bed. Waiting for you. Not giving two flying fucks that you’re my brother.” He says frankly, leaning down to dig a pair of boxers out of his duffle.

            “We can have a good cuddle and talk this out or you could put your face in my ass, I don’t care which, but we’re doing one of those things.” Dean’s looking at him, pupils wide, lips parted. “Dude, that was the raunchiest, hottest thing you’ve ever said and I think I’ve got a boner.” Dean’s still iffy about this whole cluster-fuck, but Sam is so damn calm and he’s more than a little hard.

            Sam huffs out a laugh and pushes his hair back off his forehead, one hand keeping his towel up and the other on his hip. “You think?” Dean considers his crotch for a second before he hauls himself to his feet.

           “I’ve definitely got a boner, give me 10 minutes and I’ll be back for that cuddle.” He says hastily, grabbing clothes out of his duffel and making a break for the bathroom. “Better be.” Sam replies amiably, knowing Dean’s telling the truth and trying to settle his nerves. Sam shimmies into his boxers and dries his hair after the door closes. He throws his towel over the back of a chair and flops onto the bed to wait.

           Sam calls Bobby while Dean’s in the shower. Bobby doesn’t have anything to say that they haven’t heard before and promises to look into it. Dean’s been in the shower for about 30 minutes before he starts to worry that he’s managed to drown himself rather than face his latent homosexual urges. Sam’s still on his back, stomach in tight knots as he wonders whether or not a witch managed to ruin his entire relationship with his brother in under an hour. He’s actually pretty tired, now that he’s thinking about it and the adrenaline has worn off.

          He really hopes Dean gets his ass out here before he conks out. It’s another 15 minutes before Dean comes out in his Captain America boxers, skin pink and face determined.

          “We’re about to gay it up Sammy, incest style.” He grunts, throwing his towel on the floor like the heathen he is and climbing into bed beside Sam.

          “’Bout time.” Sam grins as Dean adheres himself to Sam’s back. There’s a freckled arm draped over his waist and Dean’s breath on the back of his neck. Dean’s every bit as tired as he is and he’s pretty sure it isn’t going to happen tonight, but he appreciates the effort. He pushes his ass back so he’s butt to dick with Dean and Dean tangles his legs with Sam’s.

         It’s more than comfortable; it feels safe and a little weird and Sam starts to drift almost immediately. Dean’s weight is heavy and reassuring against Sam’s back. “Sleep now, if you still feel like it we can gay it up incest style tomorrow.” He mumbles sleepily.

         Dean buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck and breathes in the clean scent of his brothers’ skin.

         “Thanks man.” Dean slurs gratefully, tightening his arms around Sam and moving as close as he can get without lying on top of Sam.

 

*

 

           Sam wakes up to a dick on his ass and a brother that turned into an octopus in the night plastered to his back. On a scale from 1 to demons in the motel room, he’s pretty okay with waking up to his brother’s hard dick slotted against him. He’s actually really okay with it, but he’s pretty sure Dean’s not gonna be now that he’s had time to process the attempted incest. He’s got to piss though, so he tries his best to wriggle free of Dean’s many arms and make a break for it.

          He gets one leg out of bed before Dean wakes with a sleepy “Morning beautiful” as he nuzzles his face into Sam’s hair. Sam stiffens and then smothers a tired laugh when he realizes Dean probably thinks he’s some women he brought back last night. He considers the easiest way to break it to his macho-man big brother that he’s spooning his brother.

         “Morning sunshine.” Sam replies, oddly chipper for 7 in the morning and definitely not female. Dean freezes for a second, entire body going rigid against Sam’s side before he relaxes with an audible exhale.

         “I reiterate, morning beautiful.” Sam pulls away with a huff of laughter and Dean lets him, curling on his side like a shrimp and blinking muzzily at Sam.

          Sam clamors out of bed, hair messy and face smooth from sleep. Dean rolls into Sam’s warm spot, looking defiantly up at Sam. Sam’s lips twitch up in a fond smile and he shakes his head as he scratches his back and shuffles to the bathroom.

          Dean narrates Sam’s journey to the bathroom from the bed “The mighty sasquatch rises from his slumber to urinate, putting one huge hairy foot in front of the other, the gentle giant makes his way clear of his resting place to mark his territory.” He rolls over on his belly and buries his face in Sam’s pillow when Sammy disappears into the bathroom after flipping Dean off.

         He breathes in the scent of Sam’s shampoo, something flowery, and tries to steady himself as he remembers last nights confessions. His hand closes around the wickedly curved knife Sam keeps under his pillow and he takes comfort in the familiar grooves Sammy’s fingers have worn into the grip.

        “That’s rich, coming from the freaking Hobbit himself.” Sam snorts in response to the hairy feet comment, washing his hands once he’s done. He takes a few seconds to brace himself and splashes some warm water on his face. Dean’s half in his spot and half in Sam’s when he comes back and Sam climbs into bed, kicking Dean’s feet out of his way before sprawling on his side.

        “Least I keep my toe-hair trim; it looks like you have the fucking Amazon jungle on the top of your feet.” Dean says, rolling over to look at Sam.

        “Hey Dean, tell me, have you and Frodo managed to get the one ring to Mordor yet or-” His bitchy comeback is cut short by the pillow Dean uses to violently whomp Sam’s face.

        “Fuckin’ asshole.” Dean chuckles quietly, ready to smack Sam again the second he shoves the pillow off. Sam doesn’t move it though, just sits there with a pillow over his head. Dean knows it’s coming, feels his gut tighten with anxiety as he considers having the ‘talk’ with the bleary eyed big-foot currently staring at him soulfully.

        “So, wanna talk about it?” Sam asks matter-of-factly, shoving the thin pillow off his face, voice raspy with sleep and face open as he looks at Dean.

         Dean wriggles uncomfortably, feels that freakin’ burn again as the sarcastic ‘Yeah, sure, why not’ catches in his throat. He clears his throat irritably and it all comes gushing out in a torrent of emotional crap that Dean thought he’d buried way down deep.

          “I do,” Dean says, brutally honest “wanna tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me. How every time you look at me with your dopy, bambi eyes I melt a little on the inside.” He pauses to take a deep, steadying breath and keeps going, even though his voice nearly cracks “I want you to know, that no matter what happens, no matter who we become, I will always love you.”

         He strokes Sam’s cheekbone with his thumb before he even realizes he’s doing it and says fiercely “Always.”

         He sucks in a shuddery breath as the fire in his throat eases. He should shut up right about now, would give anything just to shut the fuck up right about now because he just Snape’d his little brother, but the verbal diarrhea keeps coming.

        “Even though it scares the hell out of me how much I love you, the depths I’ll go to keep you safe.” The truth feels so good on his throat that he’s torn between sighing in relief and growling swears at the crispy bitch he has to blame for his current condition. He laughs and it’s bitter, before breathing out raggedly “To keep you.”

        He drops his hand and goes to roll out of bed, movements jerky and eyes burning like he hasn’t slept in a couple of days, desperate to get free. Sam scrambles to grab his hand and jerks him back onto the bed, throat tight as the words that usually come so easy to him catch in his throat and threaten to choke him.

        He should say something; something comforting, something to soothe Dean’s fears, unwarranted though they are, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a defensive “My eyes aren’t dopy.”

        Dean blinks dumbly, looking doe-ish before a slightly hysterical laugh punches up from his stomach and spills into the taut space between them. Sam has the good graces to look really embarrassed.

         “Sammy,” Dean says, voice tinged with laughter “all of you is dopy.”

         “I feel like I should argue my case, but yeah, I’m a dope.” He scrubs his other hand down his face, frustrated with himself. He inches closer when Dean just grins tiredly, something raw in his eyes. Dean’s hand is familiar in his and Dean looks less likely to bolt with Sam’s long fingers wrapped tight around his.

         “I want you to keep me, hell, we’ve slogged through so many rivers of crap to keep each other I think we deserve a little lee-way here,” Sam says, voice quiet and thin “but it’s up to you, if you-” He laughs and it’s got a self-mocking tinge to it that Dean doesn’t like one bit. He wriggles closer, eyes locked on Sam’s face. He doesn’t say anything, just presses close to Sam and waits.

         “If you want me.” Sam finishes thickly, feeling sick and uncertain as he lays the decision at Dean’s feet. He’s not sure how he’s going to cope if Dean turns him down, but he knows he will, because he loves him in every way possible and in a few that shouldn’t be.

         “’Course I want you Sammy, but it’s just-” Dean pauses to licks his lips before plowing on uncertainly “you deserve better than me, better than a tired drunk who’ll probably be dead by 50 or on his way out.” Sam considers it, eyebrows drawn together as something tight and sad squirms in his stomach.

          Because these are things Dean seriously believes and it makes him hurt for him. “I don’t deserve the best Dean, I’m dirty and broken and nobody should have to deal with the crap that comes with being with me, but I love you.” He says the last part like it exhausts him and then keeps on, even though his heart is knocking against his ribcage.

          “I’ve loved you since that 4th of July, and, if you want me, you have me.” He finishes and Dean looks gob-smacked and shell-shocked and ten other kinds of shocked and Sam wants to maybe roll over onto the floor and crawl under the bed.

         Which would be a bad idea, because God probably doesn’t even know what’s under it and he’s grateful that Dean saves him from death by dust bunnies and used condoms.

         “’Course I want you, dumbass.” Dean snorts quietly, gripping Sam’s fingers hard and trying to get up the nerve to plant one on him.

         “You’re fuckin’ amazing and I love you.” Dean grunts, face pink and stupidly long eye-lashes lowered. “Even if you are one of the densest mother-fuckers I’ve ever met.” Sam laughs, almost giddy, and flicks Dean’s nose.

         “Says the man who didn’t realize he had the freakin’ flu until he dropped in the middle of a hunt.”

         “That,” Dean says stiffly, starting to roll primly out of bed “doesn’t count.”

          Sam grins, wide and tentatively happy as he hauls Dean back down to his level. Dean flops back onto the bed with a yelp and pouts at Sam via glaring.

          “Does too.” He murmurs smugly against Dean’s mouth, lips barely brushing. Dean’s eyes go wide for a second and then soften into a look of warmth that curls low in Sam’s belly. He can barely breathe with Dean close enough that he can make out all of his freckles, and he waits on pins and needles while Dean cocks his head curiously to the side. Sam’s too late to do anything about the spark of mischievousness in Dean’s eyes.

           He’s hyper aware of the way his eyes follow Dean’s tongue as he wets his lips and he knows Dean’s noticed, if the smirk is any indicator. Dean’s warm, wide lips close over his and Sam’s breath punches out of his lungs.

           Dean kisses him soft at first, soft and safe and stubbly. It’s when he fists his hand in Sam’s tangled hair and tugs his head back so he can kiss him hard on the mouth, like he’s starving for it, that Sam’s stomach unknots itself.

 

 

*

 

        Dean kisses him long and slow and by the time Dean pulls away Sam is panting and more than a little aroused. They’re nose to nose, close enough that if Sam were inclined to move forward half an inch they’d be liplocked again. Dean catches Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth and rolls it slowly. Sam’s groan is almost silent but Dean drags his tongue carefully along the curve of Sam’s mouth to pull another needy sound from him.

         It goes straight to his dick and he feels pretty damn dirty as he imagines grinding against Sam’s thigh and kissing him stupider. He feels better though when he notices the growing tent in Sam’s plaid boxers. He’s nervous like he was during his first time and he’s never thought he’d ever think the butterfly thing, but yeah, he’s got butterflies.

         He drags his tongue over the seam of Sam’s mouth and savors the tony gasp Sam gives. He brings Sam’s scarred knuckles up to his lips and presses a firm kiss to them before successfully rolling out of bed this time. He congratulates himself when he only staggers a little and decides on beating it in the shower to get rid of his Sammy related boner. It’s worked for the past decade or so, so he doesn’t see why it won’t do the trick for now.

          “Dude, did you slip me some tongue?’ Sam asks into the empty space where Dean just was. He sounds more out of breath than he’d like and his stomach does a happy flippy thing when Dean throws a roguish grin over his shoulder as he saunters to the bathroom.

          “Sure did Sammy.” Sam smothers himself with the pillow this time as the shower starts up, smiling like the dope he is.

 

*

 

          There’s not much time in between Sam realizing they’ve got 20 minutes to get out of the gaudy motel and having to shove all their crap into the Impala for them to discuss their feelings.

            Dean struts out of the motel, clean as mother-fucking whistle, and returns the key before climbing in beside Sam. There’s the pink outline of a hand on his cheek and Sam almost wants to know what he said to the desk clerk for her to smack the crap of him. There’s a little nick on Dean’s cheekbone where her huge cross ring cut his cheek. He deserves it though, because Sam’s still covered in morning funk and Dean got to brush his teeth.

           “This fucking sucks.” Dean grumbles, rubbing his cheek as Baby rumbles to a start. He backs up while Sam slicks his hair back and scours the glovebox for mints.

           “You tell her that lipstick wasn’t her shade?” Sam asks unsympathetically, buckling up and considering the semi-slimy, hairy mint he found.

           “Yeah, I did. Also told her that black and brown are an unholy abomination that should never coincide and she slapped the taste outta my mouth.” Sam winces and flicks the mint out onto the road dejectedly “In all fairness, you kinda deserved that.”

           “Yeah, I kinda did Sammy, but in all fairness, black doesn’t go with brown, ever, and I was doing her a got-damn favor.” Dean growls, a piece of napkin stuck to the side of his face where he stopped the small trickle of blood.

         “Tell her that.” Sam laughs back, stretching out as best he can and hoping the next truck stop has trucker showers. “Oh wait.”

          “Fuck you Sam, fuck you and your perfect morning hair.” Dean says, pulling into a McDonalds down the road and going through the drivethrough. Sam wrinkles his nose when Dean orders 4 apple pies and 20 chicken nuggets. He tacks on a salad for Sam and then pulls around.

          “It’s barely even lunch time.” Sam says in mild disgust. Dean smirks in response and pulls up to the window. Dean tosses the bag at Sam and plops Sam’s tea into the cupholder and drives off before the kid in the window can try to give Dean another soda shower. Sam doesn’t bother smothering the horrified laughter as soda drips down Baby’s back window.

           “Oh my God dude, it’s not his fault he’s covered in acne” Sam says, wiping soda droplets off the seat and tossing napkins at Dean “also, 20 nuggets? Really?” Dean snatches up the napkins and swipes at the spray of soda that made it through the window.

           “Yeah, well it is his fault he picks at it, punk ass kid, lucky I don’t turn around and bust his nose for what he did to Baby.” He makes a disgusted sound as he pulls out and heads off in search of car wash. “And I’m gonna eat everyone of ‘em.”

            “Enjoy your obesity.” Sam scrubs a hand down his face and tries to smother his amusement in the face of Dean’s unfortunate circumstances.

            “Man, we gotta get you holed up somewhere before someone else tries to take a swing at you.” Dean glares at the sticky steering wheel and starts in on his chicken nuggets as the car wash clunks to life.

           “And what? Sit it out? This could take days to clear up Sammy, maybe weeks of cooling my heels. What the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Dean grouses, cramming a whole chicken nugget into his mouth and talking around it.

         Sam shakes his head and takes a sip of tea as pink soap waterfalls down the windshield. “Sit and twiddle your thumbs, take up crocheting, I really don’t care, just keep yourself out of the line of fire until you stop spewing the truth. Bobby’s working on it, maybe he’ll come up with something better, but until then, you’re out of commission.”

        Dean huffs and angrily eats another chicken nugget while the car wash finishes up. Sam steals one of Dean’s chicken nuggets when Dean gets out to find something to get rid of the sticky and pulls a face when he bites into it. He’s not sure why he expected anything different but it’s just as gross as he remembers.

        Dean slaps it out of his hand when he gets back and picks it up off the seat to eat it while he wipes down the steering wheel.

 

*

 

          Dean gobbles down 20 nuggets in record time and manages to make himself sick while Sam is left trying to eat a salad in a moving car because Dean refuses to pull over. He’s doing a pretty good job of it, even if Dean’s gurgling stomach is a little off-putting. Sam goes to take a gulp of his watered-down tea only to realize that Dean has downed his large tea, single-handedly.

          “No wonder you’re sick, you drank a gallon of tea and ate enough crappy chicken nuggets that I’m surprised you haven’t puked yet.” Sam snorts disdainfully, pulling the lid off and popping a piece of ice into his mouth. Dean’s eyes flick to Sam’s lips and back to the road so quick Sam doesn’t notice, but he still feels dirty.

          Sam keeps up with the ice, licking drops of water from his fingers and generally making Dean even more uncomfortable.

         “They were delicious and I regret nothing.” Dean says, head held high even though his stomach gives an angry grumble. Sam raises an eyebrow and fishes out another piece of ice “You sure about that?”

         “Ugh, dude, I fucked up.” Dean groans pitifully when his rock-solid resolve crumbles a few seconds later. He doesn’t throw up, but it’s a close thing and Sam radiates ‘I-told-you-so’ for the next 20 miles.

         “Dude, could you fucking stop with the ice?” Dean says tightly after they pass the 4th gas station without even slowing, eyes on the road. Sam’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth and then pops the melty ice cube in. The ice is cold on his tongue and he crushes it between his teeth, eyes on Dean. Dean’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel and there’s a growing tent in his faded jeans that has something hot twisting in Sam’s stomach.

          “Could you not have drunk all my fucking tea?” Sam counters placidly, wiping his hand off on his leg and pointedly setting the cup down.

          “Probably, but I wanted to piss you off and it back-fired and now I think I’m gonna puke and I have to pee like a mother and while I want to blame you, I know this is my fault.” Dean’s lips press tight together, like he’s trying to keep from spewing his secrets and whatever the fuck else is on his mind at the moment.

          “And what did you learn?” Sam asks condescendingly, stretching his cramped back as best he can and wondering how long it’s going to take Dean to break. Dean wants to tongue the stretch of tanned skin Sammy exposes and decides to do just that when he isn’t in danger of wetting himself.

         “That you’re an ass-hole and I shouldn’t drink that many liquids ever again.” Dean snorts back, shifting uncomfortably.

           “You drank my tea you sack of butt-cheeks, if anyone’s an ass-hole, it’s you.” Dean’s silence is sullen and Sam grins victoriously.

           “Dude, we gotta work on your insults. ‘Sack of butt-cheeks’, that shits weak Sammy.” Dean passes another gas station without stopping and Sam throws his hands up in exasperation.

          “We’re gonna need gas soon.” Sam points out, breaking Dean’s mulish silence so he doesn’t have to ride in the car with a piss-soaked Dean. “And I need something to drink so pull over you mealy-mouth crotch pheasant.”

           Dean shakes his head “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, while you get points for being creative, that was just pathetic.” He takes the next exit and heads for a QT. If he speeds a little, Sam doesn’t mention it or the little pee-pee dance Dean’s currently doing as he turns into the gas station.

          Dean’s out of the car like a shot and Sam reaches over and pulls the keys free as Dean’s denim clad back disappears into the oasis of a gas station. Sam locks the car and follows at a much more sedate pace, moseying over to the wide variety of teas. He pulls a medium cup free and fills it with the first tea he sees. He grabs 3 fruit cups, two bottles of water and meets Dean over by the taquitos.

         “Don’t do it man, think of your colon.” Sam says over Dean’s shoulder. Dean jumps and gives Sam a peeved look, even though he puts the taquito down. A large, paunchy man waddles by and Dean grimaces at the Spock mullet he’s rocking, bangs cut straight across his forehead and straggly hair reaching the bottom of his shoulder blades. There are stains on his grey wife-beater, in varying shades, and he leers when one of the female station attendees walks past.

         She goes out of her way to avoid him and doesn’t look up when he calls out some derogatory thing that has their blood boiling, He makes Sam feel sick when he looks at him and when the greasy fella looks up, an appreciative sneer on his face, Sam grimaces in disgust. Dean opens his mouth, throat tight and burning as the truth sears up his windpipe.

         It’s there, on the tip of his tongue, this man’s truths, the nasty things everyone else can see but he runs from. And Sam mercifully slaps a hand over Dean’s mouth. Dean’s voice is muffled against Sam’s palm and his lips move over Sam’s skin.

          But the burn doesn’t ease even when the embodiment of finding a pubic hair on the kitchen counter moves away from them. Sam’s lips twitch angrily at the man’s back and Dean makes a choked, infuriated sound. Dean grabs a redbull and some Lays and they check out, even though Dean’s starting to look red in the face. Sam opens his fruit outside so the juice doesn’t drip in the car.

          He dumps half of the juice and eats his fruit cups while Dean angrily devours a bag of chips. He tosses his garbage after he’s done and climbs in the front seat. The tendons stand out on the backs of Dean’s hand and his jaw is set. Sam heaves a sigh and waves at the dilapidated truck the man is climbing into.

           “Go ahead.” Dean visibly brightens “Really?” He asks, skeptical. He sounds hoarse, like he’s been screaming and Sam wonders how long, and how bad, this is going to get.

           “Really. You’re redder than when Bobby caught you jackin’ it, go tell that guy what for.” Sam says tiredly, sipping his tea and watching the embarrassed, angry look blossom on Dean’s freckled face. “That was one fucking time.” Dean barks shortly, climbing out.

          “One time too many for all parties involved.” Sam calls out as Dean slams the door and strides calmly over to the blue rust-bucket. Dean comes back a few minutes later, a few splotches of blood on his knuckles and a wide, pleased grin on his face. Sam snorts and shakes his head, stealing a few of Dean’s chips out of spite. Sam wets a napkin and hands it to Dean. He wipes the blood off and pulls out of his parking space.

           They don’t have a case, so Sam’s not really sure where Dean’s driving to, but he puts the seat back and pulls out a thick, old book while the Impala eats up ground. Dean’s “Nerd” makes him smile and he flips him off without looking up.

 

*

 

          The suns setting when they stop and Dean pulls into the parking lot of a burger joint. It’s half-full and a few cars leave while Dean turns off the car and sits, eyes forward, hands on the wheel.

          The silence is sudden, the rumble of the impala cutting out and leaving them with quiet. It drags on and a lone cricket plays its’ mocking song outside the car. Dean’s two seconds away from jumping out of the car and finding the little bastard when Sam marks his place and closes his book carefully.

        “We gonna eat or are you gonna glare off into the distance with a frown on your face?” Sam asks, rubbing at his eyes and flipping off his booklight.

        “I wanna touch you.” Dean says abruptly, jerking around to look at Sam. His jaw is tight and he looks ready to bolt. It isn’t forced from him, like all the other confessions, built up until his only options are a scorched throat or the truth; it’s something he says on his own and means.

        Dean’s got that look on his face and Sam’s pretty sure this is gonna end with him getting punched or angrily smooched. He’s hoping for the latter, but if that first one helps Dean work through his feelings, Sam’s alright with getting bopped. He’s also alright with Dean touching him. He’s very alright with Dean touching him.

         “In a parking lot?” Sam asks incredulously, putting his book in the floor of the backseat for safe-keeping and turning to look at him. Dean’s eyes are almost hard with determination, shiny with whatever fierce emotion he’s feeling. Sam feels like he can barely breathe with Dean looking at him with want and fear and that specific brand of ‘I’m gonna do what I fuckin’ want regardless of the consequences’ that is purely Dean.

         “Because I’m down with the whole touching thing, more than down, but a burger joint parking lot? You couldn’t take me somewhere classier, like say, McDonald’s?” Something relaxes in Sam when Dean cracks a sheepish grin and his warm laugh brushes against Sam’s skin.

        “Sammy, you know you’re not McDonalds classy, you’re barely skeevy burger joint classy.” Sam laughs pointedly and says without any real bite “If anyone’s run-down burger joint classy it’s you. At the very least I’m Olive Garden classy.”

         “Who you think you’re tryin’ to kid? Olive Garden my ass, you’re Taco Bell.” Dean snorts, looking at Sam with warm eyes and a half-cocked smile.

         “Dean, shut the frick up and kiss me before I leave you here to stew in your juices and eat a burger by myself.” Dean laughs and shakes his head ruefully as Sam kicks off his shoes and props his stupidly long legs up on the seat, back resting against the door. His knees are open and Dean slides right between them.

         “Kay, but can we get burgers after?” Dean mumbles, almost kneeling between Sam’s legs. It’s awkward and Sam’s head nearly brushes the roof. Dean has to hunch down not to knock his head and the first bump of their lips is messy and wet and they both laugh into it.

           “Sure thing, just as soon as you make a man out of me.” Sam says, nipping Dean’s bottom lip and sending a jolt right to Dean’s dick. Dean’s hips jerk and Sam pulls back to watch Dean’s pupils widen until the light-green is just a thin sliver around the black.

           Dean smirks and says wryly “I was kind of hopin’ you’d make a man out of me.” The sharp intake of breath is gratifying and so is the way Sam’s cock hardens. He’s always suspected that Sammy would be hung like a freakin’ horse, but the proof of that theory is undeniable.

           “Like that idea big fella?” Dean says in a husky tone. He hasn’t felt that gut deep anticipation in a good long while and regrets not keeping lube in the car. Even though he knows fucking in a parking lot isn’t ideal and Sammy, ever the classy one, probably wouldn’t be game, he still really wishes they had lube.

            “Sure as hell do, just not in a parking lot.” Sam laughs back, “Although our first time being in the Impala is almost poetic enough that I want to give you the go ahead.”

           Dean feels a sharp, heady thrill at the thought, Sam balls deep inside of him in the only place they’ve ever been able to call home. “God Sammy, you’re gonna kill me.” Dean groans, eyes dark. His dick is completely onboard, already fully hard in his jeans and aching something fierce.

           “Try not to keel over during.” Sam says pleasantly, slinging an arm around Dean’s neck so he can pull him down to mouth level. Sam’s knees press into his sides and the heat of him is addicting and comforting and Dean’s pretty damn sure that he’s not gonna be able to stop now that he’s started. Their next kiss is better, so much better.

           “Love it when you sweet talk me Sammy.” Dean says, voice hoarse. His dick throbs and he covers Sam’s lips with his own after a very, very short break for air. Dean’s breath rushes out and he moves his lips slow and sure against Sam’s. Sam grips Dean’s hips, rucking his shirt up to get at skin. He feathers his fingers over Dean’s sides and then scootches down until Dean gets the point and moves back so Sam can slump down so he’s lying flat. Dean straddles Sam and grinds down hard against him, dick pulsing out a bead of pre-come as Sam’s hard cock rubs against his.

          “You know, heard somewhere it’s not gay unless balls are touching.” Dean says thoughtfully, palming Sam’s dick through his jeans and watching raptly as his lips fly open and his hips give an answering buck.

          “That so.” Sam gasps, head thumping against the seat. He grips Dean’s hips and rolls up, heat shivering down Sam’s spine and curling his toes. Dean’s eyes are open, hands braced on either side of Sam’s head as he watches the flickers of pleasure that move over his face.

           “Yep.” Dean replies cockily, popping the ‘p’. Sam uses his feet to put a little force behind his next thrust and watches Dean’s eyes snap shut, cockiness evaporating awfully quick. Dean’s lips fall open, a hard pant of breath brushing warm over Sam’s face as Sam slides his hands down and grips Dean’s ass with both hands. He rubs at Dean through his jeans and lets go long enough for Dean to quickly unbutton his jeans and pull down the zip.

           There’s a growing wet spot where the tip of his dick is and Sam brushes his thumb lazily over it. Dean’s back bows and he doubles over, forehead resting against Sam’s shoulder. “You sure ‘bout this?” Dean asks, voice shaky and whisky rough as more pre-come slicks the head of his cock. He props himself up as best he can and looks down into Sam’s flushed face. The look Sam gives him is both incredibly arousing and incredibly bitchy.

           “If I weren’t sure about it we wouldn’t be dry humping in a mother-frickin’ parking lot, so yeah, I’m sure. Now whip out your dick so I can get my hands on you and then we can eat greasy burgers and talk about how bad our first time was.” Dean blinks owlishly and opens his mouth. Then he closes it and blinks again.

           The laugh starts low in his belly and rumbles out of his throat. Sam’s lips twitch while he looks expectantly up at Dean.

           “I mother-frickin’ love you, you know that?” Dean says, grinning an eye-crinkling grin and swooping in to kiss Sam right on the mouth.

           “Ya know I was picking up on that.” Sam says faux casual, chest full of something that feels like coming home after a bad day. Dean smiles, wide and sunny and brilliant in a way it hasn’t been in a while. Sam rolls up just about the same time Dean rolls down and the resulting waves of pleasure push them both closer to the edge. Dean bunches his boxers down and out of the way, shudders at the first brush of fingers against his burning skin and pulls himself free.

            Dean sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth when the air meets his slick tip. Sam can’t get his hand around Dean quick enough, long fingers closing around Dean’s shaft and stroking. Dean’s stomach muscles clench and he groans, hips jerking and chest heaving. Sam lets go of him long enough to pull himself free of his jeans, nearly pinching himself with his zipper from how fast he jerks it down.

           Dean growls appreciatively as Sam’s length comes into view and licks his lips. Sam’s hand closes around the both of them and Dean’s hand closes around Sam’s and they both rock into the tight grip. Sam shuts his mouth, breathing hard through his nose as his dick slides rough-start-stop against Dean’s.

          He’s quiet, the only sounds coming from him the occasional huff of breath while Dean groans, loud and dirty, as he fucks into their grip. It takes a few clumsy thrusts to find a good rhythm, but when they do it’s enough to tip Sam over the edge. Sam’s no stranger to orgasms, but he feels something fundamental shift and set deep inside of him as he comes apart under their hands.

          Dean kisses him as that first hot spurt of come slicks the slide of their hands, makes everything slippery and harder to hold.

          Kisses the gasp that’s driven from his lungs right of his mouth and pumps his hips one more time. His balls draw up tight and he comes spectacularly, come leaking out between their hands and pooling warm on Sam’s skin as it drips down. A few jitters of too-sharp pleasure have him gasping into Sam’s collarbone and Sam strokes his back through the after-shocks as they both wind down.

          Their breaths steam the windows and Dean laughs at how juvenile it is, he hasn’t come that quick since 9th grade and he’s almost embarrassed. Except Sam is right there with him, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes closed with a content little smile of his face that makes Dean feel good inside.

          A shiver of cold races down his spine, like that first rush of winter air after stepping out of a warm house, and Dean’s confident that with his biggest secret owned up to, the spell has worn off.

 

*

 

         It’s later, after they’ve cleaned up as best they can with rumpled napkins from the glove box that Dean looks over at Sam, who’s just taken a huge bite of his burger, and says in a melancholy tone “I’m pretty sure balls touched.”

         Sam blames Dean a few minutes later, after he’s coughed up a chunk of burger, for nearly killing him with a sandwich.

 


End file.
